The Destiny of Cuthbert Binns
by TheTitaniumSerpent
Summary: Post-war sadness and ghosts. Angsty one-shot. Or actually two versions of the same story: the first one without SSHG, the second one with SS/HG.


_Notes: It seems I am unable to write anything without turning it into SS/HG, so I wrote two stories with slight differences. Everything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling, I've no Beta, and English isn't my first language. I don't make money for this. Also, please don't ask me to write how their relationship began or will progress, it's been done before so many times. This will remain a one-shot._

* * *

**Version without SSHG**

After the war ended, Hogwarts was filled with ghosts. The ghosts of children, of seasoned Aurors and teenagers who'd had the chance to experience very little of life, and now they never would. The ghosts wandered in the hallways and pain filled the hearts of those who were left behind.

Minerva McGonagall took over the repairs, but those who attempted to repair the fractured stones in the walls and crumbled mortar of the classrooms spent a lot of time avoiding the ghosts of the poor children who'd given their lives to defeat evil.

So many lives lost, too many... Victory had come at a high cost. Much too high, when children paid the bill.

Minerva, tired of the constant loss, closed her eyes and a tear escaped to her wrinkled cheek. The portraits were silent and respectful. The frame of Albus Dumbledore's portrait was empty, the occupant choosing the inhabit his portrait at the Ministry to avoid Minerva's wrath. It would take many years for Minerva to forgive the wizard she's once called friend.

These days Minerva wondered why so many brilliant lives were lost while she, an old witch, had to stay behind. So many injured filling the Hogwarts' hospital wing. Every bed in St. Mungo's was occupied, and the staff had to expand the rooms and transfigure everything to cots to have room for the wounded and cursed patients. Healers from overseas were arriving through the Ministry, help from abroad for those who could yet be saved.

But too many ghosts now walked in these halls, lost forever, too shocked to move on.

Without warning the ghost of Professor Cuthbert Binns floated in through the door. He'd taught the same lessons in History of Magic for one generation after another, going through paces like he'd always done. He'd mixed the names of his students for decades, addressed them by the names of students who'd long gone beyond the veil themselves so long ago. Absent-minded, he could have been called, barely there, but now Cuthbert Binns had deviated from his routine.

During her long tenure Minerva had never known Cuthbert to visit the Headmaster's tower. She'd never seen him look at anyone this way, either: like he was here and now, not in any undefined moment which could have happened a decade ago, yesterday or a year from now. Cuthbert Binns was looking at her seriously.

"Cuthbert?" asked Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. "How may I help you?"

"It is time for me to move on, Minerva," said the ghost calmly.

"Move on?" Minerva queried, baffled.

"Move on," Binns repeated. "To the other side. I have been waiting for this day."

"What day?" she asked.

"This day. All those dead children, Madam, they don't know where to go, how to move on. I have known this day would come, and so I waited for them. It is my duty to lead them on."

"How," Minerva asked, "how could you have known?"

"Ah," said Binns with a little smile and touched the tip of his nose with a small wink, "but that is another matter entirely, and a matter which cannot be explained to the living. I have known since I died."

"But couldn't you have warned us?"

"No, Minerva. That is a difference between the living and the dead," said Binns. "We, too, have our reasons, our cause for existing. It may not be clear for a living, but it does not mean it is not there. And it is time for us to go."

"You'll be able to? Take them to the other side, I mean?" asked the Headmistress.

"Oh yes, that is why I have been here, after all," said Cuthbert Binns. "I haven't been around merely for the fun of it, you know."

"Oh," said Minerva, as tears seemed to close her throat, making her slightly breathless. Her eyes stung, although she'd cried so much she hadn't thought she had an tears left to shed. "I'll... we'll miss you, Cuthbert," Minerva said, wiping her stinging eyes with her crisp white handkerchief. "Hogwart's won't be the same without you."

"I know," said Binns gently. "We'll see each other again, one day. Until that day... live well, Minerva, and keep them safe. They're in your hands now." And with a handsome and flourished bow, the former and late Professor for History of Magic departed from the office.

Minerva sat for a moment, before she moved to one of the windows to look outside. She felt the gloom lift from the castle gradually, felt how the ghosts left it, following the late Professor Binns beyond the veil.

"They're gone," said the portrait of the late Headmaster Black from his frame.

"I felt it," said Minerva, returning to her desk. "Do you know...?"

"I know many things, but some of them don't concern the living," interrupted Phineas Nigellus Black.

Minerva McGonagall stared into nothing for a long while. What she thought just then, nobody could guess, and she certainly wasn't telling. Then she shook her head as she picked up her quill, sighed and returned to her paperwork.

And somewhere beyond the veil the late Professor Binns held hands both large and small as he led the ghosts on.

* * *

**Version with SSHG**

After the war ended, Hogwarts was filled with ghosts. The ghosts of children, of seasoned Aurors and teenagers who'd had chance to experience very little of life, and now they never would. The ghosts wandered in the hallways and pain filled the hearts of those who were left behind.

Minerva McGonagall took over the repairs, but those who attempted to repair the fractured stones in the walls and crumbled mortar of the classrooms spent a lot of time avoiding the ghosts of the poor children who'd given their lives to defeat evil. Families had been broken, wives, husbands and children lost: Creeveys had lost Colin, Weasleys were mourning Fred, Mr and Mrs Brown's only daughter had died, Teddy Tonks was now an orphan... Relationships, too, had been destroyed, and Minerva had been sad to hear how Hermione Granger had rejected a relationship with Ronald Weasley, which everyone had hoped and expected to take off.

So many lives lost, too many... Victory had come at a high cost. Much too high, when children paid the bill.

Minerva, tired of the constant loss, closed her eyes and a tear escaped to her wrinkled cheek. The portraits were silent and respectful. The frame of Albus Dumbledore's portrait was empty, the occupant choosing the inhabit his portrait at the Ministry to avoid Minerva's wrath. It would take many years for Minerva to forgive the wizard she's once called friend.

These days Minerva wondered why so many brilliant young lives were lost while she, an old witch, had to stay behind. So many injured filling the Hogwarts' hospital wing. Every bed in St. Mungo's was occupied, and the staff had to expand the rooms and transfigure everything to cots to have room for the wounded and cursed patients. Healers from overseas were arriving through the Ministry, help from abroad for those who could yet be saved. Severus was slowly recovering under the care of Madam Pomfrey, and Minerva had yet to swallow her pride and apologise to the dour man for all her nasty remarks and for the attack she'd launched at him, now all too aware that the powerful wizard could easily have killed her if he had wanted to.

Too many ghosts now walked in these halls, lost forever, too shocked to move on. Ghosts of witches, wizards, relationships, bad words and regrets all haunted the living.

Without warning the ghost of Professor Cuthbert Binns floated in through the door. He'd taught the same lessons in History of Magic for one generation after another, going through paces like he'd always done. He'd mixed the names of his students for decades, addressed them by the names of students who'd long gone beyond the veil themselves. Absent-minded, he could have been called, barely there, but now Cuthbert Binns had deviated from his routine.

During her long tenure Minerva had never known Cuthbert to visit the Headmaster's tower. She'd never seen him look at anyone this way, either: like he was here and now, not in any undefined moment which could have happened a decade ago, yesterday or a year from now. Cuthbert Binns was looking at her seriously.

"Cuthbert?" asked Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. "How may I help you?"

"It is time for me to move on, Minerva," said the ghost calmly.

"Move on?" Minerva queried, baffled.

"Move on," Binns repeated. "To the other side. I have been waiting for this day."

"What day?" she asked.

"This day. All those dead children, Madam, they don't know where to go, how to move on. I have known this day would come, and so I waited for them. It is my duty to lead them on."

"How," Minerva asked, "how could you have known?"

"Ah," said Binns with a little smile and touched the tip of his nose with a small wink, "but that is another matter entirely, and a matter which cannot be explained to the living. I have known since I died."

"But couldn't you have warned us?"

"No, Minerva. That is a difference between the living and the dead," said Binns. "We, too, have our reasons, our cause for existing. It may not be clear for a living, but it does not mean it is not there. And it is time for us to go."

"You'll be able to? Take them to the other side, I mean?" asked the Headmistress.

"Oh yes, that is why I have been here, after all," said Cuthbert Binns. "I haven't been around merely for the fun of it, you know."

"Oh," said Minerva, as tears seemed to close her throat, making her slightly breathless. Her eyes stung, although she'd cried so much she hadn't thought she had an tears left to shed. "I'll... we'll miss you, Cuthbert," Minerva said, wiping her stinging eyes with her crisp white handkerchief. "Hogwarts won't be the same without you."

"I know," said Binns gently. "We'll see each other again, one day. Until that day... live well, Minerva, and keep them safe. They're in your hands now." And with a handsome and flourished bow, the former and late Professor for History of Magic departed from the office.

Minerva sat for a moment, before she moved to one of the windows to look outside. She felt the gloom lift from the castle gradually, felt how the ghosts left it, following the late Professor Binns beyond the veil.

"They're gone," said the portrait of the late Headmaster Black from his frame.

"I felt it," said Minerva, returning to her desk. "Do you know...?"

"I know many things, but some of them don't belong to the living," said Phineas Nigellus Black. "Never you mind those matters. Someone might concentrate on having my other portrait returned to my home," he added snidely.

"Where is it, then?"

"The Mu...ggleborn Granger has it in her blasted purse," Phineas snarled. "The purse is in the hospital wing. Next to her feet, and she keeps kicking it. She called is accidental, you know, and she's lying. I had to vacate it because the books kept falling on me. At my age, ducking an avalanche of books!" whined the former Headmaster's portrait.

"Why is she in there?" Minerva questioned him, now alarmed. "She isn't hurt, is she?"

"No!" Black said. "She's with Headmaster Snape, of course. Probably crawled into his bed by now, the impertinent chit..."

"Hermione... and Severus?" asked Minerva, her voice now taking mildly horrified tones.

"Oh yes. Dumbledore certainly didn't like that, not at all," Black said with a malicious giggle. "I spent a lot of last year delivering soppy messages between the two, you know."

"But... but... but what about Lily Potter?" asked Minerva.

"Oh come now," Phineas laughed. "Did you really expect a wizard in his prime to pine after one silly chit all his life? Especially a vain and shallow little Mud... Muggle-Born incapable of simple forgiveness? She was his only friend and he wanted revenge. As insane as it might seem, Granger is well suited for him. You'd better believe he'll marry her within the next two years. He's Slytherin, he isn't stupid enough to let her get away!"

"Three years," commented the portrait of Headmaster Everard from the left. "I'll bet three books on botany for that."

"Two years and six months," said Dilys Derwent, "I'll also bet three books and raise you a bottle of wine from the painting of the drunk monks."

"Oh really, now," whined Armando Dippet from his frame. "have some dignity!"

"I'll take that bet!" bellowed Fortescue, drowning Dippet's voice underneath. "I'll raise you a few rotten eggs we can toss at Dumbledore when he gets back. I found some in a painting of three mallards..."

An interested murmur rose among the portraits, and Minerva McGonagall shook her head with a slight smile on her lips as she picked up her quill, sighed and returned to her paperwork.

And somewhere beyond the veil the late Professor Binns held hands both large and small as he led the ghosts on.


End file.
